


Just Prey

by Lyswenn



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, F/F, Insecurity, Maximum Victory - Freeform, More centered around Victoria, Party, References to past sexual relationships, Underage Drinking, Victoria is """straight""" ;), Vixcine, chapter 2 is fluffier, chasefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyswenn/pseuds/Lyswenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victoria is at a Vortex Club soirée, more than determined to get laid, but the result is beyond epic fail. After a bit too much of vodka, she sees in Max a potentially new prey.<br/>AU where there is no tornado. Whether Max has time powers or not is up for you to decide, it really doesn't change much.<br/>Maximum Victory (Chasefield).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
Victoria Chase is a predator. Popular, rich, gorgeous, sharp, powerful – she takes pride in the multiple assets of her personality and background that make her important. Feared, hated, admired, no one in Blackwell is indifferent. Especially, everyone likes to gossip, words travelling faster than brains can comprehend.

Victoria Chase is a predator, and Blackwell is her playground. Her disgraceful comrades? Nothing more than mere preys. She only toys with them, be it verbally abusive remarks in the hallways or hormones-induced journeys away from the prying eyes, she makes damn sure that everyone in the school becomes her puppet.

Or, at the very least, she tries.

Truth be told, she isn’t as dangerous and fierce as she wishes to be. Victoria is indeed a predator, constantly on the hunt, but not always does she succeed in her pursuits. And it left a goddamn bittersweet taste in her mouth, which is clearly stronger than her Grey Goose vodka.

Her head feels dizzy, her eyes struggling to decipher the mass of dancing bodies surrounding her.  Were it not for the heavy beats echoing on every walls, she might have forgot where she is. Scratch that – the sickening smell of vomit proves itself to be a painful, yet effective reminder.

A Vortex Club party. Of course.

She briefly wonders how many drinks she has ingurgitated at this point, but the information seems to slip her mind. She only knows that she served herself a third glass after trying to get into Logan’s pants. And failing miserably. She still can’t wrap her head around it. Logan would go for basically any girl so long as she can flash him any outrageous piece of skin, and Victoria was quite willing to do so – and more – and yet, it had taken a good thirty minutes until the dude fucking took the hint, and when he finally did… he laughed. He fucking laughed. At her. As if she had just delivered a joke so awful that his drunken brain instantly made it funny. Only after seeing her serious expression did he seriously consider her “offer”, but then that idiot managed to somehow stagger on a table and hurt his foot, completely ruining the already severely-damaged moment.

Ah, whatever. If the bastard dares mention it the next day – or the day after, seeing as how quickly their stock of liquor is “evaporating” – she can still blame it on the alcohol. A nice “the idiot was so drunk off his ass that he thought I was serious”. Or she can even spread false rumors. “He was hitting on me, so I just played along, no way in hell would I ever do that, ew”.

As she ponders the millions of ways she can turn this embarrassing episode in her favor, she slowly makes her way to a nice-looking sofa. It takes a bit of will and a few “watch where you’re going, ugh!” before she actually reaches her destination, on which she sits as if it is her reward. Her legs are beginning to ache from standing up for so long – how long? – and her frustration still gnaws at her insides.

Her ego cries as she realizes that she has failed three times in a row. First, Zachary chooses miss blockhead Juliet over her. Then, Mr Jefferson turns her down in the most humiliating way. And now, Logan.

Scowling, she brings her glass to her lips, swallowing the beverage voraciously. It hurts. It hurts her tongue, it hurts her throat, it hurts her stomach, but most of all, it hurts her confidence. She is Victoria Chase, goddammit, boys should be begging for her attention, fighting over her, burying her under compliments, throwing suggestive remarks that she would pretend to ignore because again – she _is_ Victoria Chase.

She is Victoria Chase but right now, she feels so damn fucking worthless. Why is there no one looking at her? No one talking to her? No one trying to get her favors?

Why does no one want her?

Just as her eyes begin to burn – the vodka, certainly – someone does, in fact, approach her.

“Mh, hey, Victoria?”

She looks up, and her – still painful - eyes automatically roll after landing on a certain hipster.

“What is it, Max?” she asks, hostility clear in her tone. And the girl effectively tenses up.

“Oh, it’s just that you um… you look upset. Is everything okay?”

“I do not need your pity.” But she does. “So please, kindly take that hipster ass somewhere further away from me. Thanks.”

The words hurt her throat more than the vodka did. She doesn’t want to say this. She does feel somewhat grateful that _someone_ , even Max Caulfield, actually expresses some semblance of concern towards her. Which is probably why she feels a wave of relief travel down her back when Max sits to her left, completely disregarding her insincere request.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Condescending. Always condescending. If there is something Victoria sucks at, it would certainly be honesty.

Max stays silent, a serious look spreading on her facial features.

“Care to reply, Caulfield?” the Queen inquires.

“I just… don’t really want to leave you alone.”

Victoria scoffs. “Oh my, does the selfie ho have a crush on me?”

It is only a joke, or at least it is meant to be, but the mere thought somehow makes her heart sting. A part of her, a tiny, tiny part of her wishes for it to be true. The fantasy that someone could crush on her, admire her from a corner, dreaming of her reciprocating – it comforts her, like bandage for her ego. And if she dares to be honest with herself, though she wouldn’t, she finds something strangely enticing in that ‘someone’ possibly being Max. The girl is so innocent, so pure, her crush would be just the same. She wouldn’t want Victoria for her legs or her fame. Victoria’s heart flutters again and her jaw tightens.

“Victoria, you’re drunk as fuck, there’s no way I’d leave you alone in such a state.”

But of course, haha, Max wouldn’t feel that way about her. After all, Victoria does make it her personal duty to turn that waif’s life into a living hell. Max is also one of her toys, although she does not belong in the lust category.

“Thanks for your concern, hipster, but I’m good.” She throws back.

But she knows Max is right. A sickening feeling is slowly weighing on her guts, and she knows it won’t be long before her body can’t handle the alcohol any longer.

But she doesn’t give a fuck, and empties her glass a bit more anyway. She winces at how the burning sensation swims down her insides.

“Victoria, I’m not kidding, you should stop drinking.”

“Are you seriously ord-“

Her head is spinning like a fucking wheel.

“Victoria?”

The sight of a blurry Max-face imposes itself to her view, and she squints her eyes trying to distinguish the details.

She bursts into laugh.

“Wow, when did you get so many freckles?”

The freckled teen furrows her brows in concern.

“I’ve always had freckles.”

Victoria rolls her eyes – crap, her head hurts.

“Gosh Max”, she forces the words out. “Fucking chill, will you? This is a party. Didya even drink anything?”

“I’m not… really a drinker.”

“You’re so boring.” She releases a sigh at the end of her sentence, mostly to conceal how sluggish her voice sounds when drunk.

Her vision somehow becoming clearer, she can see a tiny smile curving the small girl’s lips up.

“I know, sorry. Parties aren’t really my thing, I guess.”

“What are you even doing here? Isn’t your blue-haired punk friend with you?”

“Well, I figured I had to see what the Vortex Club parties were like, at least once. I asked Chloe if she wanted to come, but she… wasn’t too excited for it. So I came alone.”

“So, whaddya think?”

She doesn’t even know why she asks. The girl probably has something stuck in a certain orifice that prevents her from having any fun. But Victoria is the one who organized this “little” party so well, she guesses she is interested to some extent.

“Heh… there’s a lot of puke. And people making out. And more puke. I guess.”

Victoria laughs a second time, and it would certainly feel weird if not for the glass she still held tight in her hand. Still, she scrutinizes her surrounding, and can’t help but notice that indeed, Max is right in her description. But there is no way she would give her that satisfaction.

“You’re too fucking innocent. What are you, twelve?”

“Why? Because sex, drugs and alcohol automatically make you mature?”

“No, they make you feel good, dumbass.”

“Cookies also do that, you know.”

Well, seems like Max is trying to break the joke record for this night, and now Victoria’s ribs hurt. Truthfully, she knows that once again, Max is right – heck, she even stole her cookies, and they were pretty darn tasty.

“Are you serious?” she says instead, forcing a louder laugh to escort her words.

Max shifts slightly under gaze. She looks uncomfortable, certainly ashamed. Victoria grins, triumphantly. She knows she has more experience than her – she may have come home empty from her previous hunts, but it hasn’t always been the case.

“Have you even kissed someone? Like, ever?”

She bites back a laugh – she never, ever expected to address such a question to Max. It feels way too prying, but what does she care? She loves the way the girl looks away.

“I have… once…” she mumbles, barely audible.

Oh, this is too hilarious.

“Once? You _really_ are twelve!”

The blonde appreciates the power she still has over the socially impaired, she savors her superiority when it comes to her social life, and she finds that newborn control… intoxicating.

But somehow… that new piece of information strikes a chord in her, sets her curiosity aflame. Max Caulfield kissed someone, huh? She tries to picture it in her drunk, very drunk mind. Did the hipster get to first base? Or was it just a peck? No, impossible. Max is way too innocent for that.  
Her mind completely blocks Max’s presence out, and drifts further away – would Caulfield even have the guts to go further than a kiss? She tries to imagine it… no. No way. She giggles internally, convinced that the brunette would probably be tomato-red and get completely flustered and her voice would probably be a lot higher and… Victoria gulps.

An innocent little Max having an innocent crush on her is somewhat appealing in its own cute way. Alright.

But an innocent little Max blushing and moaning as she experiences all of the four bases, for the first time, with her… it’s another thing entirely. And were it not for the alcohol, it would be infinitely awkward to justify the red spreading all over her face.

“Victoria?” she hears.

She turns her head, her eyes trying as hard as they could to focus on her new prey.

“Sorry, I got lost trying to imagine who in the world would ever kiss you.”

Oh shit, definitely not the way to go. Although… she can definitely use this.

“Let me guess… is it the punk?”

Even drunk, she finds Max way too easy to read – what with her eyes widening suddenly, and her stupid face losing all its colors before turning crimson.

“Bullseye, huh.” She smirks.

The brunette tries to conceal her blush with her hand, to no avail. Too late, hipster.

“How disappointing, you got one kiss and it wasn’t even from a boy!” Okay, no, that was definitely _not_ the right way to go.

“Hey, it doesn’t change anything, it was still a kiss!”

Woah, so defensive. Victoria wants to argue that she wouldn’t know unless she tried to actually kiss a boy, but she chokes down the remark, along with a bit of vodka. There isn’t much of it left, unfortunately.

“So, what, are you into, like, girls?”

That reminds her, she has never kissed a girl herself. She has always seen girl-on-girl action as a pathetic way of trying to get the boys’ attention. Oh, she doesn’t doubt that _some_ people are actually homosexuals, but she has always felt as if the matter was a distant one, one that would never concern her. And she feels downright stupid now.

“What if I am?”

There is a certain boldness to her reply. A silent “so, what are you gonna do about it?” The doe is trying to challenge her, and she can’t help but find it adorable. In a strange way.

The huntress raises her left elbow, positioning it on the back of the couch, inching it slightly closer to her prey. She rests her hand behind her own head, twiddling with a wild strand of blonde hair, while her other fingers still clutch tightly to her nearly finished drink.

She ponders her options for a while, brain processing slowly, before finally replying.

“I’d say you’re an idiot for telling _me_ of all people.”

Max is the one to scoff now.

“What? Are you gonna bully me? Blackmail me?” she pauses. “I’ve seen you all over Logan earlier. It was quite the sight.”

Oh shit. Thank God she has prepared for that.

“So what, he was too drunk to…”

What was it again?

“Too drunk to?” Fucking Caulfied presses with a grin.

With a fucking grin. On her face. As if she just owned her. How dares she?

She tries to think of a comeback, she really does, and damn, she usually excels at this game. But the Grey Goose is emptying her mind of all the logical thinking she most definitely needs. That stupid grin on that stupid face just sets her off.

Fuck, she’s losing her control now.

“If anything, you’re the one who’s too drunk.” Max suddenly says, in a voice that gives way more pity than Victoria wants. Although, the blonde still feels grateful that Max broke the silence, saving her from the hassle of finding a decent comeback to save face.

“I’m not too drunk, you’re just too sober.”

Woah, she doesn’t know where that one came from, but she is slightly proud that her messed up soul actually managed to think of that.

She inches a little closer, unable to conceal her smirk – her face just wouldn’t respond anymore. She lazily raises her glass up, trying her best not to let it slip. She wants to mutter a “want to finish it?”, or even a “c’mon?”, but no sound escapes the barrier of her lips. So she just taunts her prey with her eyes, or at least tries to.

Time seems to run a little bit slower. She’s not sure, she’s fucking drunk, but she feels her patience running low. Fortunately, the nerd does, although still very cautiously, reach to grab the drink, brushing her fingers against Victoria’s – she, fucking, did, that, and Victoria somehow can’t wrap her mind around it, her heart thumping against her ribs as if it were trying to break through.

Time also seems to slow down as she observes the girl’s lips approach the glass and softly press against it. Victoria doesn’t see clearly enough to know whether or not she put her mouth exactly on the spot where hers was, but she likes, she _really_ likes to think it was the case. Imagining that their lips did indirectly connect sends a wave of warmth consume her body, claiming control over it… or maybe it is simply the alcohol.

She doesn’t know, but Max is still too damn slow. The way she tastes the vodka, how she tries hard to refrain from wincing at the strong taste, and woah – did she just lick her lips?

Victoria instinctively presses her body a little closer – just a little. Damn, get a hold of yourself! She closes her eyes briefly, trying to force control and reason into her brain, but her efforts soon find their way out as Max turns to her, a sheepish smile stuck to her face.

“What’s getting you all smiling, loser?” she mutters, although her voice doesn’t hold any hostility whatsoever.

“Hehe, I’ve never had vodka before. ‘tastes weird.”

Victoria giggles. Oops, little moment of weakness. She hopes Max doesn’t notice.

“What, you already drunk?”

“No I’m not!”

“Admit it, you like it.”

“Fuck no, it burns like hell!”

“But you still have a shit eating grin.”  

The girl only hums in reply, apparently content with keeping her smile. Victoria’s gaze linger on it, her eyes retracing its slight curves, and she really tries to ignore the crazy backflip her heart just did.

It is _so_ tempting.

Despite her miserable state, she knows how fucked up the situation is. Max is just an attention-seeking hipster with a hero complex overflowing with naivety and awful tastes. She is merely a toy, perhaps a slightly more valuable one considering she is her photography nemesis, after all. And she is, well, she is a _she_.

Victoria is damn well aware of all of this, and it only makes it worse. It’s new. It’s risky. It’s exciting.

She glances back at the drink in the girl’s hand. It’s empty. Swallowing hard, she leans over, grabbing it, while enjoying the way Max’s fingers feel so close to her own – giving her a taste of her own medicine. She places the drink on the nearby table, and she swears she thinks she is going to fall over before she feels a hand wrap around her arm, keeping her in place.

She strengthens her posture, trying to use the momentum to get a bit closer, yet again. And damn, she is close. Closer than she has ever been in the past. She almost wishes that she wouldn’t be so drunk, as she honestly can’t see Max clearly. She positions her hand on her own lap, not feeling quite bold enough to touch Max. Yet.

They both stare at each other. Her heart skips a beat.

She leans in.

Only slightly. She still has the decency to stop midway, willing her brain to decipher the freckled teen’s reaction. So close to her, she can witness her eyes widening. Did she seriously not expect it? But she makes no move to distance herself. Does this mean she has permission to kiss her? Should she ask anyway?

She just wants to close the gap and kiss the life out of her, right there, right now. She wants to, she truly does. Her body begs, craving for it. The adrenaline rushes faster in her veins, beating in a strong, fast, constant rhythm, as if her own blood is hammering “do it” into her skull. She barely even hears the music anymore.

They are so damn close, she can smell vodka on her breath, but at this point she doesn’t care anymore. Heck, hers probably isn’t any better.

She feels dizzier, and she swears the room is whirling, like a fucking tornado.

Crap, she has never felt this nervous for a simple kiss. Because it’s just what it is, right? Simply a kiss. She has kissed before. It’s no big deal. She thinks she is rather skilled at it. There is no way it can go wrong, is there? She just needs to be more confident. Most importantly, she needs to show Max that she is in control of the situation.

She reminds herself of what she is – a predator. Max is her prey. She needs to catch her. She repeats these words quite a few times, enough for them to sink in.

She can do this, yes. She absolutely can.

She slowly raises her hand, which accidentally bumps against Max’s shoulder, before her fingers finally find their way to her cheek, which she caresses tenderly – what even for? She sees Max swallowing.

She doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know what to do.

But Max smiles. She rests her hand on Victoria’s, right above her cheek. She grabs it gently, lowering it to her own lap.

“I don’t think we should…” she mutters.

_What?_

But fucking Caulfield is still smiling, and she dares distance her lips from the blonde’s.

_No!_

She wants it – she really does – she really, really does – and damn, if her body weren’t frozen for some reason she can’t fathom, she would absolutely grab her shoulders and do it.

This can’t be happening. Not again.

“Are you seriously… turning me down?”

Her mouth feels sore, which she finds hilariously ironical considering she didn’t get the chance to use it the way she had intended.

“I am not… It’s just… it’s just not right, you know? You’re way too drunk…”

“Save your lame fucking excuses.” She snarls.

Four. Four times. She has been turned down four times in three days.

She just can’t believe it.

Snapping her hand away from Max’s, she uses the couch for balance in order to get on her feet.

“Wait, Victoria, where are you going?”

She doesn’t grant her the honor of a reply, her head fucking hurts and she just wants to get the hell out of here, far away from those revolting teenagers. Away from Max.

So she walks off. She staggers, bumps into two – or five – people in the way, the fiends.

But a hand grabs her wrist, forcing her pathetic journey to a stop.

“Victoria, stop. You’re too drunk to get back on your own.”

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

It rings off a threat, her rage clearly resonating under her tone. She wants to be alone. Alone. Bury her face in her pillow while she cries away all the disgust she feels.

But the hand around her arm doesn’t let go.

“No.”

She turns her head to meet the girl’s gaze, and the determination she sees in her eyes somehow twists something in her guts.

“I don’t care how pissed you are at me, I won’t leave you alone like this.”

“M-“

“We don’t have to speak, Victoria, but at least let me walk you to the dorm.”

She is boiling internally. She doesn’t want to be ordered around by this lame hipster trash – who fucking had the guts to reject her advances, mind you. She certainly doesn’t need to be stuck with her freckled face so reminiscent of her fourth failure…

She wants to tell her to go fuck her selfie, thrash her reputation right there, write her name down on the Vortex Club’s blacklist, with her blood if needs be.

But she can’t. She feels weak, both physically and psychologically.

Nodding, in this situation, felt like tearing out her own skin, crushing her persona and stepping on it vehemently. Certainly not a pleasant experience.

So she lets the smaller teen drag her out of the swimming pool and into the streets. The night sends a chill down her spine, but the liquor in her blood keeps her body warm. She can hear the wind blowing in the distance, the noise consumed by the cicadas’ soft chirping. It feels somewhat relaxing, compared to the deafening party music.

Max opens the door to the dormitory, and they’re welcomed with the building’s heating system, which they are both silently thankful for. The freckled teen assists her in climbing the stairs despite her protests, preventing Victoria from making a nasty fall.

Eventually, they arrive to their rooms. Of course, they _had_ to live literally in front of each other. Victoria doesn’t believe in karma, but if such a thing exists, she sure hates it now. As Max lets go of her hand, they fall into this uncomfortable, tenacious silence, begging to be cracked. And Victoria sure doesn’t want to be the one burdened with the task.

“Victoria, I, um…”she paused, biting her lip. “I just… I’m sorry, for, you know… it’s not…”

And she sure doesn’t want to talk.

“Forget it, Max.” she cuts in, her voice dull and dreary. “Forget… all of it.”

Pain flashes across the hipster’s features, her lips still parted – those damn lips Victoria could have tasted if she hadn’t been such a wuss – and ready to protest.

But the Queen is pissed. She is so pissed. So she uses that burning strength to turn on her heels and get to room, completely ignoring the lost doe she left behind. She has nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing.

As soon as the door is closed behind her, she throws herself on her bed.

She doesn’t care about the strong scent of vodka still lingering on her clothes. She doesn’t care about the painfully bright light. She doesn’t care.

She wishes she doesn’t care.

But the aching in her heart is horrendous. She clutches at her chest desperately, pleading for the pain to stop, chocking on her tears. It is salty. Salty and bitter, and no amount of liquor can erase this awful taste.

She buries her face into her pillow, tries to bury her entire being. She feels so ashamed. So ashamed of herself. Worthless, pathetic, miserable, that is all she is.

No matter how many snarky remarks she has thrown, no matter how many teenagers blinded by lust she has banged, no matter how many times she has bullshitted herself into believing she can control everyone, at the end of the day, it’s only… a lame gimmick.

They fear her for her money, hate her for her words, love her for her legs.

Because she has nothing more to give.

And she has nothing more to receive.

…

Except for Max.

Max doesn’t care for all of these things.

Victoria can’t quite figure out whether the girl is hopelessly naïve or exceptionally tough – but even when she covers the loser with a waterfall of insults and humiliations, that idiot doesn’t hate her guts. Or maybe she does and is incredibly skilled when it comes to hiding it, but Victoria likes to believe she is a good judge of character – at least when it’s not about herself.

She remembers her eyes, her freckles, her scent, her mouth, her smile… and her heart painfully reminds her of what she could have done. Of what she couldn’t get.

She can’t accept it.

She might be drunk off her ass, but she can tell that this time was different. This time was not about seeking someone’s approval.

Blame it on the alcohol if you wish, but this time, she was truly excited. She actually wanted to kiss Max, urgently, not because she was trying to validate her existence through someone’s consent, but simply out of desire.

And even now, she still craves for her touch. She wishes she can go back, just rewind time and take the chance – or perhaps she would let Max explain herself, for once. She wishes she can get another chance to seduce her, to caress her cheek with her hand, her lips with hers, pouring into a kiss all the emotions her tongue otherwise fails to express.

She wants Max. She wants Max, because she has more to offer than what she gave to any other.

And she swears that Max _will_ be hers.


	2. Chapter 2

Victoria’s day starts with a frown as she can hear teenagers speaking in the distance, the noise echoing in the dormitory halls only to be muffled by the barrier of her door. She lazily brings an arm over her head, hoping to completely block them out – to no avail.

Releasing an irritated groan, she slowly opens her eyes, blinking a few dozen times to adjust to the stinging sensation. She is welcomed by the sight of her room, and as she suddenly remembers that oh – yes – right – she’s actually a living being, she suddenly feels a pain similar to her brain pounding against her skull.

What happened the previous day then dawns on her - the party. The music. The vodka. Max. The rejection.

She presses her arm further against her face, somehow hoping that it would be enough to erase her existence, save her from the embarrassment.

She just can’t believe she had actually tried to hit on Max. Max, the hipster, the waif, with her quirky attitude, snapping pictures of literally everything, thinking she’s so special, and, and… oh, wait, no – she doesn’t actually regret it. She does try hard to find the sinking guilt in her guts, but all she finds there is the pain from digesting all that alcohol.

She might feel ashamed, pathetic, worthless, perhaps even gross – but there certainly isn’t any trace of regret in her.

Her introspection comes to a stop as the voices outside grow louder, so she extends her arm away from her face, and lazily pats the sheets. She finally finds her phone on the floor, and stretches her arm once more to reach for it and unlock it.

2:14 pm.

She would perhaps be surprised if she had enough energy to, only lifting a curious eyebrow. She sees five pending messages and taps at the screen to read them.

The first three were from Courtney, they contained a lot of typos and mostly consisted of her gushing over how crazy the party was. Courtney has always been the talkative drunk.

Victoria sighs and went to read her other two texts – both from Taylor.

_‘Hi Vicki, I saw you leave the party with Max, I didn’t want to intrude but I hope everything is alright’_

_Please text me when you wake up’_

As always, Taylor proves herself to be an attentive and caring friend. Oh, Courtney is a fun person to be around, no doubt, it is always a pleasure to go shopping with her and gossip about losers, specifically Max. But the queen bee has always felt closer to Taylor. She knows she can trust her friend, but she feels reluctant to in this situation – she has no wish to explain in details how and why exactly she feels so embarrassed.

She goes back to her list of contacts and nervously presses a finger on the name “Lamefield”, displaying their conversation, the only message exchanged popping up. _‘BTW THANX BUT WERE NOT FRIENDS’._

She almost wants to scoff at herself for how dumb her message sounds – she was completely at a loss after Max’s strange show of kindness, and she had typed away excitedly at her phone without much thinking. That damn hipster somehow managed to make her feel at a loss, and Victoria hated that emotion.

But instead of dwelling into her own stupidity, she sighs a second time, realizing that indeed, Max hasn’t texted her.

Of course she wouldn’t. Max is an introvert. She probably replies only a quarter of the time, let alone actually initiating conversations.

And Victoria feels conflicted – her insides seemingly twitch at the idea that Max isn’t concerned about her at all, whereas the mere thought of talking to the little hipster looks like the plague she needs to run away from. But she actually misses interacting with that loser, and she is suddenly filled with hopes that maybe, just maybe, she would get more from her if they were to speak again. But then again, the shame overtakes her optimism.

Her feelings cannot seem to make up their mind and she groans in frustration, her emotions still flickering inside her chest and stomach.

She closes her eyes, willing for this internal mess to stop, hoping that perhaps Morpheus would take her existence away from this world soon, but she knows she cannot go back to sleep now. Not only because it is late enough in the afternoon, but because she can feel her full bladder begging for her to get up.

Breathing a curse, she painfully and slowly gets up. She rolls her head, making her neck crack pleasantly, before stepping in front of her mirror.

Oh fuck, she looks awful.

Her brows are furrowed, making her puffy red eyes barely squinting open. She tries to soften her features, but her scowl seems to be permanently carved on her face. It doesn’t help that her makeup has begun to fade away, thus making her look like some sort of panda. Heck, even her hair is a rebel mess.

She ponders for a second – she only needs to go to the toilet, is it really worth the trouble of actually fixing her makeup? She has seen every single teenager of this floor in their pajamas, and she takes pride in the fact only her two friends have seen hers. So, really, who the heck would care?

Deciding that looking great is part of a spectrum, she still runs a hand through her blonde locks before cleansing her face off the awful makeup.  

She nods to herself – which hurts like hell – before heading out of her room.

Dana’s door is open, and Victoria can vaguely hear Juliet speaking inside, her voice somewhat louder than usual.

“Victoria!”

She sees Courtney, walking towards her before she can even take a step forward. The girl stops right before her, excitement spread all over her facial features.

“I see you enjoyed the party? Your face screams hangover!” She giggles.

The queen bee groans, glancing at the ceiling as she rolls her eyes.

“Leave me alone, Courtney, I just want to take a piss.”

“Oh, alright… Well I-I’ll be in Taylor’s room if you wanna stop by later…”

“Whatever.”

She gestures her to go away before walking away. She spots Brooke and Stella who are exchanging what seems to be small talk, but she ignores them to focus on her original plan – which is to empty her plaintive bladder.

The mission complete, she steps out of the toilets and back into the corridor, ready to head back to her room.

Well, that was her intention.

But then she sees her, and her body instantly freezes.

Max Caulfield.

Leaning against the wall, a grin plastered on her face as her eyes stare at her smartphone, probably looking at a silly picture. Or reading a silly story. Or replying to a silly text. Whose text would it be?

Victoria has no time to ponder the question that Max’s eyes lift up from the device to land on her – and she swears the entire universe has stopped. Her heart drops as she sees the freckled teen approaching her, she internally screams at her legs to run away but they are glued to the ground, and she is defenseless when Max raises her voice.

“Hello Victoria.”

Oh shit, her lips moved, and Victoria suddenly wishes that her body would _actually_ stay in place. It takes a few more seconds before her brain actually translates the words she heard and she gulps painfully, closing her eyes to block the sight of the other teen.

“I’ll pretend that you just didn’t _talk_ to me as if we were friends or something.”

She opens her eyes again and instantly makes her way to her room. A part of her feels heavy, so heavy, willing her to stay near the damn hipster, but she pushes through the weight to-

“Victoria.”

Please, no.

“Get lost, Caulfield.”

She doesn’t want to talk to her. She doesn’t want to see her. She doesn’t want to know what that idiot wants from her, doesn’t want to give her any kind of satisfaction after being rejected so shamelessly.

“Victoria, we need to talk.”

The tone of her voice makes Victoria shivers – it is commanding, yet pleading, she can’t quite decide, but it screams “important” and she finds it hard to resist.

“Please.”

She definitely can’t resist.

She glances behind her shoulder. Only Brooke remains in the corridor, and she seems too captivated by her videogame to pay any attention to the pair.

So Victoria nods, opening Max’s door without her permission – she is still the queen, after all, and she can’t allow that loser to forget.

She has been into this room before, unbeknownst to its owner, but standing in it with Max by her side feels… different. She grows painfully aware of the bed next to them and she has half a mind to throw Max on it, mainly to avoid whatever conversation they are about to have – or at least that’s what she tells herself.

But she keeps still, turning around to face the hipster. She looks uncertain, awkward, and Victoria supposes that her presence in this room feels like an intrusion. A stranger, a bully, in an introvert’s territory.

“So?” she inquires. She doesn’t want to add anything to her question, doesn’t want to guide Max into the conversation that will most likely be unpleasant. “Make it quick.” She adds with a hint of a threat.

“Victoria, you know we need to talk about it…”

Straight into the pit, alright.

How can she act distant enough to keep face, yet be amiable enough that Max wouldn’t hate her guts? Should she act dumb? Assume her actions with confidence?

She had to dive in, eventually.

“No, we don’t.”

Not too harsh, was it?

“Victo-“

“I mean it, we don’t. You better not mention it to anyone, or I’ll make you swallow your vocal cords.”

She definitely failed on the “amiable enough” part.

“You don’t have to threaten me, I have no intention of talking about it to anyone.”

“Of course”, the queen replies, her voice reeking of sarcasm.

“I mean it. I’m not the kind of person who’d try to ruin someone else’s reputation.” The hidden accusation stings. “But we need to talk about this, Victoria.”

“There is nothing to say.” If only her voice wouldn’t waver.

“But I need to know… why?”

“Why?”

“Why did you do this? Or I mean, try to do this?”

It hurts, it hurts, more than she thought it would.

“What do you think?” Her throat hurts. “I was drunk. I couldn’t think straight.”

Oh, the unintended pun. Max seems to notice it too, as her lips – oh her lips – curve into a smile.

“Is that it? Is that really it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

Her grin becomes more defying, and she takes a step forward, her eyes boring into Victoria’s, who can’t help but look away.

She hates it – she hates the position she’s in, she hates the power Max has over her. Her chest boils with anger and she clenches her jaw, trying to keep her calm, in vain.

She glances back at Max, and she is dying to fucking kiss that smirk off her face, to regain her control, make her _regret_ , regret the nerve she had to reject her, regret the pain she caused, regret the tears she will never know Victoria has shed.

And amongst all this angst, she finally feels the regret.

Ultimately, she doesn’t regret trying to kiss Max – she regrets having thrown her chance away. She wishes her mind had been clearer, she wishes she had actually given it more thought.

She wishes she had succeeded.

“Victoria…”

She hates – loves – the way Max keeps saying her name, and she hates – truly – herself for it.

Max’s grin has faded away, her arrogance replaced with what seems to be concern. Victoria would revel in it if she wasn’t so busy trying to resist her desires – all her body wants is to launch forward and wrap the petite girl in her arms, claim her lips and feel her warmth.

Maybe all she wants is for Max to regret not accepting her.

And maybe she can achieve that.

She may not be able to rewind time and erase her failure, but she definitely can make Max wish she could.

She forces her shoulders to shrug, trying to appear disdainful.

“What does it matter? _You_ didn’t want it. Which is fine.” Well, it still hurts. “I may be a bully, but I wouldn’t forcefully kiss someone who doesn’t want it.”

There, she dropped it, the k-word. She broke the taboo. She may not have directly popped _the_ question, but it still felt as if she had actually screamed it.

She sees Max shift under her gaze, nervously rubbing her palm against her opposite arm.

“Victoria…” her name again. “There was _no_ way I could have done this.”

“Wh-“

What?

She bites down her question, swallows it, and ignores her stinging eyes – she can’t let Max know how much her statement pains her – to look for a better way to express herself, but Max apparently notices her struggle.

“No, I mean!” she quickly adds. “I mean… you were drunk. Like, completely drunk, you couldn’t even walk. You were so out of it and I… I couldn’t take advantage of you. Not… not when you could have regretted it.”

Her voice seemed to get caught in her throat, and as she looks down, eyes glued to the floor, it finally dawns on Victoria.

Of course.

Kate.

It makes so much sense now – why Max talked to her. Why she refused to leave her alone. Why she insisted on walking her to the dorms.

Why she went to the party.

It was all so she could prevent anyone – including Victoria – from knowing the same pain as Kate.

Max had been trying to protect her.

The realization hits Victoria like a wave, washes away all of her hatred and resentment, only to replace them with a warm feeling that settles in her chest.

Max had been genuinely worried about her.

“I’m…” Victoria begins, but pauses. “Sorry…” she mumbles.

The freckled teen shakes her head, finally looking back at the blonde.

“I am not looking for an apology.”

“Then what?”

“Would you have regretted it?”

That stare again. Those blue eyes are trying to see past hers, into her thoughts, into _her_.

She can try to hide the truth behind the alcohol again, use it as a convenient excuse to justify her actions. But she knows Max would see through this lie.

“It… would have been interesting. That’s all.”

She needs to be distant enough.

“Is that so?”

The girl raises her eyebrow and sighs, disappointed. She shrugs, walking past her to sit at her desk, and Victoria understands that it is time for her to leave.

And she understands that Max could see through this lie, too.

 

* * *

 

  
Time has seemed to slow down before she bumped into Max again – literally.

It is only the next day. As she opens the door to the bathroom, her head still in the clouds, she feels her body collide with another. She readies a dozen of insults at whoever dared come in her way, only to become a flustered mess when she realizes the aforementioned body belongs to Max.

As embarrassed as she is, the memory still makes her heart stutter.

 

* * *

 

  
The week starts anew and she finds herself up an hour earlier than usual, busy trying different outfits to decide which one would fit her frame the best – looking for that one combination that would make heads turn and jaws drop.

She knows she has gone over this already, but simply shakes the thought away.

 

* * *

 

  
She sees Max fucking Caulfield at the cafeteria. She has ordered a chicken sandwich with mayonnaise and an orange juice. She is sitting with Kate Marsh, of all people.

What a loser, Victoria thinks as she absentmindedly chews on her salad.

 

* * *

 

  
“… Max…”

Victoria’s neck almost snaps as her head perks up. She sees Nathan, ranting angrily about how the hipster’s best punk friend has stood him up for the second time in a week.

She doesn’t care, but there is no stopping the butterflies in her stomach from flapping even more passionately.

 

* * *

 

  
Okay, she is definitely going insane. She needs to stop.

But she clicks again, moving her cursor across the virtual page, displaying yet another picture of Max.

She stares at the screen as her eyes entirely swallow in the new photo. A photo of Max, trying to conceal her smile behind her hand, the other one holding a balloon against her hip. Her nearly naked hip. She is wearing a pink swimming suit and oh – gosh – Victoria needs to stop. Now, right now.

… But she right clicks on the picture instead.

No one would snoop into her computer files, right? Right?

 

* * *

 

  
No, she definitely has not decided to wear a button-shirt that would show her cleavage with the sole goal to attract hipsters.

And she definitely has not posted a selfie of herself with that same button-shirt on her Facebook wall.

Nor has she made it her profile picture to make it more visible.

No, definitely not.

* * *

 

  
Now that she thinks about it, Max _does_ spend a lot of time with that religious chick. Can she possibly have feelings for her? Max did strongly imply that she was into girls – or had the alcohol been messing with her memories? No, no, she definitely did say that. But wouldn’t she be more into her punk loser friend? They seem awfully close too.

Goddamn Caulfield.

 

* * *

 

  
So, apparently Jenny isn’t actually straight and cheated on her boyfriend with Marina.

It somehow makes sense in Victoria’s head – Marina is fucking gorgeous. She can’t be compared to that loser Tim. But Shane is still a lot hotter.

Victoria’s mind wanders, further and further away from the series, completely lost as she ponders how Max’s body looks naked.

And she mostly definitely needs to take a shower.

 

* * *

 

  
It’s not what it looks like.

She is staring at her shirt. Her _shirt_ , mind you. Her stupid nerdy shirt that reads “Deer puns are so bucked up.”

It’s so stupid. And silly. Just like its owner. Who somehow managed to looks _really_ great in that shirt. And who suddenly looks up to meet her eyes.

Crap, she has been caught. Staring at her shirt. Her _shirt_.

 

* * *

 

  
What if she hadn’t been drunk on that day? Would have Max agreed to the kiss?

 

* * *

 

  
She doesn’t think much about it when she buys a new perfume – after all, she has finished her previous one.

But she definitely questions her intentions when she finds herself sitting closer to Max during class, silently praying that she would notice the new scent.

How stupid.

 

* * *

 

  
She somehow finds herself in Max’s room. Without Max.

She doesn’t even know why she is there, she doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but the hipster hasn’t been talking to her _at all_ for nearly two weeks now, and Victoria has no idea what to do. She wants to know. But she doesn’t know what she wants to know.

She feels frustrated, so frustrated.

Fortunately, she has recently found a way to release her frustration.

And hopefully, the hipster wouldn’t notice that one of her shirt is missing.

 

* * *

  
 An A+. She has got an A+ on her photography project. Mr. Jefferson is even praising her initiative in front of the whole class, and she instinctively turns her head to Max.

She is smiling. At her.

A small, sincere smile, her eyes sparkling with pride.

She looks so beautiful.

Victoria can swear her heart is making backflips.

 

* * *

 

  
It is Saturday again, and it has officially been two weeks since they last talked.

And as Max brushes past Victoria in the corridor, she decides that she has had enough.

Turning back on her heels, she rushes to the hipster, grabbing her sweater and practically throwing her inside her hipster room.

“V-Vict-wh… What are you-” the girl questions, trying to release herself from the queen bee’s grasp.

“What the heck is wrong with you?” Victoria cuts in, letting the hipster go.

“I should be the one asking that!”

Victoria slaps a hand to her own forehead, a useless attempt at concealing her frown. She slides the hand to her mouth and stares at Max, strongly wishing that thoughts could surpass words. But Max only tilted her head to the side, obviously not reading minds yet.

“You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder…”

Oh gosh she sounds so childish.

“And I believe I haven’t done anything to deserve it”, she quickly adds. “So, why the heck are you ignoring me?”

She must have said something incredibly stupid, because the grin spreading on Max’s face is enough to make her regret every word she has just spurted.

“Oh, you think it’s funny?”

“No, no, it’s not funny… it’s just… I didn’t think you would be _so_ upset over me not speaking to you.”

“I am _not_ upset.”

Max sighs, and she gives her that look again – that look, a mix of disappointment and desperation. A look that directly questions Victoria’s sincerity.

“I just… expected you to talk to me…” she admits as her gaze scrutinizes the walls and anywhere Max isn’t.

“I thought there was nothing for us to talk about?”

Victoria shifts her weight, uncomfortable. She isn’t used to honesty, but nor is she used to her heart dancing in her chest the way it does.

Her brain is filled with questions, and answers, and possibilities – but as she tries to make sense of it all, her thoughts stumble upon another, forming a mess of incoherency that she can’t possibly put into words.

Only one thought stands out from the others.

_I wish I could kiss you._

But that is one wish she can’t allow herself to formulate.

She frowns, cringes, taking a step back, ready to leave in defeat – which is silly, really, a Chase would never admit defeat. But she feels that there is nothing she can do. She can’t go back, but she can’t go forward either.

Max seems to grow aware of her inner struggles, as she takes a step further, maintaining the distance between them.

“Was it really just because it would have been interesting to kiss me?”

She gulps.

“Do you really think it didn’t mean anything?”

Her heart stutters and her thoughts swarm inside her mind.

She closes her eyes, wills her mind and emotions into submission. She has to remain calm. She can’t mess this up. Not again.

 She takes a deep breath and shakes her head.

“It did.”

Oh fuck, she said it.

She hears Max taking another step further, and when she opens her eyes, she notices how painfully close they are.

She instinctively glances at her lips.

She really just wants to lean in now.

The temptation is almost painful.

Max wraps her hand around hers.

“It did for me too.”

Her heart is going insane.

She has not figured it out yet, she cannot wrap her mind around whatever the fuck she is feeling.

All she knows is that she wants Max. She wants Max so badly, but she knows it isn’t about sex, nor is it about owning her. Because it means a lot more than merely acquiring a new possession, and her feelings run a lot deeper than simply seeking hormonal release.

She needs to feel her close, closer, to be the only one permitted to touch her, to see a side of her only she is allowed to witness.

“I wish I could kiss you.”

She feels two hands rest on her waist and she instinctively gets closer the warmth, their chests lightly touching.

“Well, you haven’t drunk, have you?” she hears, a voice sounding a little hoarse.

She smiles for a brief second – a sincere, honest smile – before raising her hands to gently cup those freckles cheeks.

And she leans in, slowly.

She pauses for a second, giving Max a final chance to change her mind – but she doesn’t, and Victoria closes the last inch separating their lips, letting them brush against one other slowly. Just a feathery caress, and it feels soft, unbelievably so.

But she quickly grows hungry for more and she presses her lips fully against Max’s, trying to feel the shape of her mouth against her own. Their breath mix together, their noses lightly bumping against one other, and she swears she can almost hear Max’s heart beating against her.

She pulls Max’s closer to her, moving her lips gently yet firmly, and she feels the reciprocation - and something deep within in her screams that _this is_ _so right_.

She lets one of her hand wanders into brown locks, grasping a little more tightly, but she still kisses her slowly. She can feel Max’s jaw moving, trying to get as much contact as she can, and her mind feels so giddy she thinks she is going to faint – but Max’s arms are wrapping around her waist and holding her tight and she feels so _safe_.

Her _heart_ aches for more, she wants to just share something with her, something special, something unique, that only they could access.

She wants her on a level that transcends physical need.

But she knows that her desire will only grow the longer the kiss lasts, and as hard as it is to stop, she reluctantly does.

She opens her eyes slowly and is pleased to see Max’s are still closed, only fluttering open a second later. She isn’t quite sure what emotion exactly she is reading into these blue eyes, but she is convinced she wants Max to keep looking at her this way.

“Tell me this won’t be the only time…”

She tries to make the words sound commanding, controlling, but they only come out as a whisper close to pleading.

Max gently pecks at her lips, smiling against her.

And it is the comfort she needs.

They hold onto each other tightly for a few more minutes, before Max finally untangles their bodies, much to Victoria’s dismay.

“Mh, by the way, Victoria.”

Max flashes an arrogant smirk.

“Can you give my shirt back, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, there it is. I'm sorry it took so long, and I honestly hope that this lives up to your expectations after the first chapter. I hope no one expected a mature chapter, because I really can't write anything sexual. I am still personally convinced that Victoria craves for affection.
> 
> (By the way, the part about Jenny, Tim, Marina and Shane is a reference to The L Word (a very popular lesbian show). You don't really need to understand what it means aside from the fact Victoria is watching a lesbian show.)


End file.
